The Musings of a Latte Queen: Narratives of Everyday Life

I was barely a spec in my parent's imagination on this day in 1963. Like the sun rising over my balcony and the sun rising over that memorial, there was hope in the clouds.  Hope that thinking minds and feeling hearts would prevail over the vice grip of fear and hatred.  Hope. The momentous event that has been immortalized through grainy black and white, replayed all this past weekend, commemorated again when hearts and souls gathered in a unified tapestry and outcry for again freedom, life, and liberty.  Once again. Fifty years later, those who were children then look back out on the sea of time and realize that in some ways, it seems like time stood still, that the fight then is the fight now. They told me that to everything there is a season and there is nothing new under the sun, read to me as a child, read myself those timeless words in the Book so many of us hold dear.  This fifty-year cycle of oppression and discrimination. The ones who were murdered...

Sunday, what a beautiful day. My big sister, my Mata Sister became an elder today, her 60th birthday.  She taught me about me and loved me, held me, cared for me when our mother was unable.  She has always shared her joy and radiated the perfectness of her freedom.  She inspires me. My big girl, my lovely one, made a big leap to growing up and took all the lessons I shared with her to her journey.  She makes me proud and honored to be her guide.  She starts middle school in a few weeks and is ready for her world. These women, bracket of my life, hold my highest esteem.  So much alike and not.  Each is an artist and deep thinker, a lover of the arts.  Each one feeds my spirit with their presence. Today was a magical day for me to realize how wonderfully blessed I am with the people who share my space. My baby girl made thoughtful decisions about what she wanted for her school supplies, making me proud with how well she negotiated the aisl...